


Morituri

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Kirk, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Gen, Implied Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Introspection, Jim Kirk deals with dying, Kid Jim, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Starvation, Tarsus IV, Tarsus warnings apply, Torture, Trauma, and the deaths throughout his life, dark-ish fic, only in part of it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:13:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: Dying did not change Jim Kirk. (Death had always clung to him.)





	Morituri

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: typical Tarsus IV warnings apply!!! Torture, child abuse, child death, starvation, implied cannibalism, trauma, mentioned drug abuse
> 
> I've had this plot-tribble for ages and it just needed to be written now.

_“It's a boy.”_

_“A boy! Tell me about him!”_

_“He's beautiful. George, you should be here.”_

_“What are we going to call him?”_

_“We can name him after your father.”_

_“ Tiberius? Are you kidding me? No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim.”_

_“Jim. Okay. Jim it is.”_

_“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”_

_“I can hear.”_

_“I love you so much! I love you!”_

_Static._

 

Many people who'd had near-death experiences reported seeing a light, or the face of a deceased loved one. Others claimed they had been aware of their surroundings, or to have had an out-of-body experience, watching from above as medical personnel tried to get their bodies working again.

Jim Kirk, unsurprisingly – at least to himself –, was one of those in none of these groups. All he had felt was the radiation that seemed to burn him up from the inside, the increasing weakness with every second and the tired fear, one that was more familiar to him than he'd ever dared admit to anyone – followed by nothing at all.

 

_"Hey Sammy, what'cha doing there?"_

_His older brother just gave an annoyed sigh, not even looking at Jimmy._

_"Homework. Go away."_

_He always said that when Jimmy asked, but Jimmy never listened anyway, so he just let himself slump down next to the older boy, peering over his shoulder onto the PADD. Nudging him with his elbow, he repeated:_

_"C'mon, what are you doing?"_

_"I said it's homework, now go play in your room or something. Just leave me alone."_

_Not satisfied with that answer, Jimmy started tugging at his brother's shirt, until Sammy shoved him to the ground. He gave a startled yelp and stared at the elder with big, accusing eyes. Finally, Sammy gave him an apologetic look and sighed again._

_"It's a bucket list. A lists of things we want to do in our lives, we have to write it down and then explain why in class."_

_The younger boy tilted his head for a moment, considering. "Can I make one too?"_

_"Yeah, sure you can. As long as you just go and leave me the fuck alone already!"_

_Not sure how to make one, he wanted to ask more or maybe watch for a bit, but Sammy was getting actually angry by now and he didn't want that. If Sammy got angry, he'd go and tell Uncle Frank and then Uncle Frank would get angry too and Jimmy wanted_ that _even less. Especially because it was afternoon already, so he'd be drunk by now and drunk_ and _angry was always a scary combination when it came to Uncle Frank._

_Anyway, he had somehow gotten into enough trouble again over the last few weeks. He didn't mean to, but it happened. At school, the other kids in his year called him a show-off because he could read and write pretty well while they were only starting to learn now – it had confused him at first when he found out that unlike him, they couldn't do those things yet, but apparently he was just different. They didn't like show-offs, or at least that was the reason they told him whenever he was cornered on the school yard. The director had almost called home the last time he'd ended up in his office!_

_He wished Sammy would talk more to him. Sammy was smart, much smarter than the kids in Jimmy's class and he could be really funny, but if he hung around his brother for too long, they always started fighting. His mom hated it when they fought and Uncle Frank always told her they had been, whenever she came home for a few days. Jimmy hated the way she looked at him then, even sadder than usual and with so much disappointment._

“ _Always getting into trouble. You're too much like_ him _.” she had sighed once. He'd asked his brother later when she hadn't explained._

“ _She wants Dad back. We all do. Dad was great, but now we have to deal with you instead and it's your fault.” was the answer he had gotten._

_So instead of staying like he wanted to, he went up to his own room. Luckily, he'd finally figured out how to get his PADD working again last week and could now look up 'Bucket list'._

_'Things you want to do before you die' it read on one webpage, that had an example of one on it too. Seemed like an odd homework to him. But Sammy was making one and it didn't look too difficult, just a normal list, so Jimmy wanted to make one too. Maybe, if he behaved and was lucky, his brother would let him compare theirs later._

 

Maybe it was the lack of an experience of that kind that made him feel so... normal.

“Are you feeling homicidal, power-mad or despotic?” Bones had asked him

To which he had responded: “No more than usual.”

But what his best friend didn't known, what he himself hadn't realised yet at the time, was how much of an understatement that had been. He was beyond groggy and had had one hell of a headache for a while, but he hadn't felt different. Nothing he felt was no more or less than what it had been before.

After a close brush with death, even a less close one than the one he'd just been over, so many people turned their lives around. Found religion, switched careers, reconnected with estranged relatives or former lovers. Many said it turned them into better people, made them care more about others or appreciate their life more, made them want to live it to the fullest. He didn't feel the need for any of those things, all he wanted was to get back to his life as it were as soon as possible. God, he hated hospitals.

 

 _On his 9 th birthday, Jimmy figured out what his brother had been talking about years before, the thing he'd said about having Jimmy _ instead _of Dad._

_Once again, his mom was off world, Uncle Frank was drunk and Sammy was avoiding him as he always did on that day. When he had been much younger, his mom had called him for his birthdays but she hadn't done that in years now. Jimmy didn't wait for her call anymore, he didn't expect one. The rule that he wasn't allowed to turn on the radio, or the holo-screen or even his PADD on his birthday was still standing, but he was 9 now! He could decide for himself. He knew he wouldn't get caught – there was no one around to catch him – and he was bored._

_On his 9 th birthday, Jimmy Kirk heard his father's voice for the first time – the first time he was aware of anyway – as he listened to George Kirk's last words during his heroic sacrifice. And he understood. Understood his mom's sadness when she looked at him, the trace of resentment in Sammy's voice whenever his brother talked to him, the way his appearance could make some people uncomfortable._

_His father's death had meant his own life. One for the other, quid pro quo._

_As he clicked replay on the recording, he thought that he should feel something. Sadness or loss maybe, after all George had been his father. But all he heard was a stranger, someone he had never met, saying his goodbyes. And he was too young to really comprehend the concept of death._

 

The only thing that had really changed were the people around him. His loved ones, his friends, the patchwork family he'd somehow found himself part of, the one forged with unbreakable bonds in the orbit of Vulcan in the planet's last few hours of existence. A family born from death and tragedy. That was rapidly becoming a recurring theme in his life, Jim noticed with bitter irony.

Bones had become even more protective of him and showed his affection more freely – even if it was in that gruff, grumpy way of his, with gestures instead of words. His hyposprays didn't hurt, he lingered in the room for longer than usual, checked up on his more frequently as if he was afraid Jim had died again in his absence whenever he turned his back or left the room. Actual food replaced the hospital nutrient glob a bit sooner than standard dictated.

Spock had shown up more too, briefing him on the progress of the _Enterprise_ 's repairs and the fallout of the _Vengeance_ crashing into the city at least once daily, often with more detail than strictly necessary for maximum efficiency. And often enough, there was a hint of a smile on the Vulcan's face when he greeted him.

Uhura had become warmer towards him, their usual banter taking on a friendlier tone. Sulu and Chekov often visited together, discussing whatever came to mind with him and – when he grew too tired – with each other, letting him listen. Scotty kept him up to date with all the crew gossip, only to stop sometimes mid-sentence, staring at him with a wet sheen in his eyes. Other members of his crew stepped by as well, even ones he had barely even spoken with so far, leaving whatever was a customary get-well gift for their species. His room filled up with flowers and balloons and trinkets.

He did feel somewhat guilty to see how much his death had affected all of them when he himself felt pretty blasé about the whole thing, but he did appreciate their gestures and friendship more than he could say.

 

_"The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."_

_At 14, JT understood death._

_He watched as four thousand lives were taken while he and twenty others survived through what amounted to nothing more than dumb luck. Smelled their blood and heard their screams, but nothing stank as strongly as death and nothing howled as loudly as the silence it brought with it._

_Being the oldest, the others looked to him for leadership, unanimously decided in a split second that he'd be the one most suited for the task of keeping death from taking them as well and they didn't hesitate to do as they were told when he ordered them to run, to hide, to fight, to sleep, trusting in him._

_Within days after the death of half the colony, they grew into a family, something he had never had before and JT knew that there was_ nothing _he would not do for his family. They hid in caves and used the sewer system to move around and find food that grew more scarce with every day. He knew they would find nothing at all sooner rather than later._

_So JT skipped his own portion, sharing it out to the younger kids or the ones who got sick. He started taking more risks, first with his stealing, then actively fighting Kodos' men for the rations the got from the governor, often escaping only at the last second. The feeling of a phaser pressed against his head became almost as familiar as the perpetual dizziness from starvation and his entire emaciated body was covered in bruises._

_He kept himself from collapsing through sheer force of will alone, even as his empty stomach cramped strong enough to almost make him double over with pain. Still, he smiled for his kids every day and even if it was becoming less and less by the day, every time he brought them what little food he'd managed to steal or scavenge, they smiled back at him. He lived for those smiles, for the hugs they gave him, even as he could feel their bones poking through their skin more and more prominently, even as they held onto him hard enough for his broken ribs to drive tears of pain into his eyes. JT looked into their small, trusting faces and knew it was all worth it._

_When at last the food ran out entirely and he saw what the other surviving colonists had resorted to, he knew what exactly it meant to stop at nothing to ensure the survival of his family. It probably shouldn't have been so easy, but they didn't ask questions about whatever he gave them to eat, and watching them eat at all, no matter what, was always easy. Death became everyone's means of survival. JT would truly do anything for his kids, whatever it took, he would not let death claim a single one of them, he would make sure of that._

_He failed._

 

As he lay there, staring at the sterile white of the ceiling in Starfleet Medical, buzzing with unused energy that prevented him from sleeping but still too exhausted to actually do something about it – Bones would kill him anyway – he figured that as far as deaths went, this hadn't been such a bad one. Radiation poisoning, at least with the level he'd been exposed to, was surprisingly quick. And aside from the burning sensation and the way it made his head pound and forcefully sucked all energy from him against his will, it wasn't the most painful way to go either.

Spock had been there, assuring him of his friendship and proving it with a rare, helpless show of emotion, to be the last thing he would have seen and heard. And the last thing he would have known was that his ship, his crew, his _family_ was safe, that his death meant their life. Despite everything, he didn't believe in no-win-scenarios and in this case, his own death didn't matter. He had known his crew would live and in his book, that was the greatest win in the universe.

As far as deaths and last thoughts went, this really was a good one.

 

_The light in the small, filthy cell they kept him in was just enough for JT to watch the progress of the red line on his bony arm, creeping upwards towards his torso ever so slowly with every passing hour. It started at the seeping, yellow-crusted cut on his wrist and now reached just beyond the crook of his arm. Soon the fever would set in._

_JT had lost five of his kids this way. He had done everything he could to keep every injury anyone got as clean as possible, but there was only so much he could do. Not with the way they lived, with the lack of medication and starvation affecting their immune systems. He knew that was the truth and he kept telling himself so, but that didn't stop the guilt from mixing into the grief and loss. His heart had broken as he had held them for most of the time he spent in their hide-out after returning from his search for food during their last days. They had become feverish and eventually delirious and all there was left for him to do was try and comfort them as much as he could. Maybe part of his guilt was that even though he got the most injuries, his had remained uninfected. Until now, but now it hardly mattered._

_Now was after, after months of running and fighting and hiding and always being just one fraction of a moment faster than them, he had gotten caught. Now was here in Kodos' cell – Kodos, who looked suspiciously well-nourished and JT loathed him all the more. Here, he wasn't given any opportunity to clean his wounds, but it wasn't like that surprised him. Not after they had beaten and waterboarded him, after they had broken his ribs one after the other before starting on his fingers and toes, after they had burnt and electrocuted him. All to get him to give up the location of his kids._

_Joke was on them, they had no idea how far he would go for them, how far he already had gone, how many guards he had taken on in a fight at once and how many he had killed. He screamed when they tortured him, but he hadn't said a single word, hadn't cried a single tear. They still didn't even know his name and he had taken great satisfaction in the way they had flinched back when he'd only smiled at them, cold and hollow and more than a little insane, through bloodied teeth._

_As long as they were focussed on him, there were less of them out there, trying to find his kids._

_The ones he had managed to save anyway. No matter what he had done, he had lost them, one by one. He'd had twenty children at first and he'd kept all of them alive for two weeks. The first one he'd lost had been the youngest, Sabrina, only four years old and with a soft giggle that would bring a smile onto all their faces for the rest of the day. Then B'Rin, David, Heather, Sheerna, Na'al, T'Pen, Dilak, Liam and only last week Raj just hadn't woken up one morning._

_The last thing JT had seen before they had dragged him away was Tommy being hit by a phaser, but he had screamed and remained upright, so maybe, if he was lucky, he was alright. He hoped he was. Tommy was the second oldest and they had agreed that if something were to happen to JT, he would take care of his kids instead. If he was too badly injured or..._

_Maybe Kev would step in. The Irish boy wasn't one of the older ones, but he had proven resilient and a quick thinker, someone who could be relied upon and JT, as much as he loved all of his children, had quickly developed a special soft spot for him. Yes, Kev would be able to keep himself and the other nine survivors alive. All JT had to do now was keep his mouth shut and die before they could break him._

_He traced the red line of blood poisoning with a swollen finger. He wouldn't have to hold out for long anymore. Funny how he'd been fighting death for so long, and now it almost seemed like a relief. He curled up in the darkest corner of his tiny cell, bare, emaciated body shivering against the cold concrete. JT figured he probably looked like a corpse already._

 

Of course they made him talk to a shrink. It didn't actually surprise him, after all, Starfleet had regulations and all that, but that didn't keep him from getting annoyed as Boned announced his sessions would start tomorrow, now that he was finally regaining his strength. If there was one profession he hated more than doctors – sorry Bones – it was shrinks.

Jim sighed. He knew he was being unfair, knew he couldn't judge an entire profession on his personal bad experiences – Bones was living proof of that – he just couldn't help the instinctive knee-jerk reaction he had to them any more than he could stop feeling the need to hide at least a few non-perishables wherever he lived for a time. Even now there were a few ration bars hidden in the top shelf of his room's wardrobe behind his uniform, the thought of their presence a well-ingrained comfort. Luckily he hadn't been caught sneaking out to get them. Bones would've given him hell and made good on his threat to tie him to the bed and post a nurse outside his room 24/7 if he attempted something like that.

 

_Steps. Voices. Were they coming to hurt him again? He would've smiled pityingly if he'd had the strength left. JT was barely conscious, there wasn't much they could do. Everything hurt already._

“ _I'm reading life signs, just down this hall!” a voice shouted. The steps came closer. Familiar scratching of the door being opened._

“ _Oh god. Fuck. It's a kid. That's a fucking_ kid _.”_

_Retching. The stench of vomit mixed with that of the cell's and his own filthiness. Another voice shouted for a stretcher._

“ _Is he...?”_

“ _Yeah, he's still alive. God. We need to get him out of here, or he won't be for long. He's not even stable enough to beam.”_

_More steps, closer and closer. Hands grabbed him and JT's eyes flew open, fingers radiating agony as he scratched as hard as he could at whatever body part he could reach. It was all he could do, but like hell he'd go down without a fight. Three guards had already lost an eye._

“ _Shit! He's conscious!”_

“ _Do you need to sedate him?”_

“ _No! His body couldn't take that! Hold him down! Be careful!”_

_More hands. He struggled, but it was futile. He could already feel what little strength he had fading. Soon, there was only black._

…

_Light. Footsteps. Shouting._

“ _Human male, Caucasian, I'm guessing maybe eleven years old? Septic shock, severe malnutrition, multiple organ failure, multiple fractures, severe concussion, internal bleeding, left lung's punctured...” the voice went on and on._

_He was lying on something soft. Confusion. An electronic hum swept along his body._

“ _Shit. I doubt he'll pull through, he's too far gone.”_

“ _We've gotta try!”_

“ _What's the point? He's on death's door already.”_

“ _He's a fucking kid!”_

_Black._

…

“ _...into anaphylactic shock!”_

“ _God, I haven't seen such a severe reaction in years...”_

…

“ _Time of...”_

“ _No, wait! I have a pulse! He's back!”_

…

“ _...got him stabilised. It's up to him now, if he makes it the next 24 hours...”_

“ _He will. I was there when we found him, you know. He's the one who gave me these scratches, trust me, that one's a fighter. If anyone can keep cheating death, it's that kid.”_

 

The Starfleet counsellor assigned to him was nice enough, in a civil, professional way, but he never picked up on Jim's lack of true cooperation or his dishonesty. By now, Jim knew how to talk to counsellors, what they expected, which steps of coping someone in his situation would ideally go through and knew what to say so it would seem like he was actually going through them. He was glad Bones wasn't listening to any of this, his best friend would've been calling him out on his bullshit within the first half minute. And with his medical record sealed as it was, only accessible on a strict need-to-know basis and Jim not exactly willing to share, he would never get the full picture anyway. And didn't that make the whole exercise kind of pointless?

He was fine anyway, at least with the whole dying of radiation and coming back to life part. Nevertheless, he would grin and bear it. Starfleet wanted him to take counselling sessions and he'd take counselling sessions, anything to keep his chair and his crew. A memory surfaced and he smiled.

The counsellor smiled back at him, friendly and politely. “Would you mind telling me what you're thinking about just now?”

“Just thinking about getting to return to my ship in a few months. There's this mission I'd like to take. Frontier mission, something that's never been done before. Five years in uncharted space, just exploring new worlds, finding new civilisations... And I mean who better to do it than the Federation's flagship?” He paused for a moment before deciding to reveal another truth, for once. “And I just remembered something. You know, as I kid, I made a bucket list once. I don't remember everything I wrote on it, but I do remember the first thing I put on that list: Becoming the Captain of a spaceship.”

 

_For the first two weeks, JT floated in and out of awareness, only registering indistinct lights and noises, with flashes of colour in between. The first time he truly woke up to find himself in a small, too-bright, too-sterile room, old-fashioned IV lines attached to him, he felt disoriented._

_Suspecting it to be a weird trick by Kodos' people – they had probably given up on getting information out of him by now, now it was just personal, now they just wanted to hurt him – he pulled them out, dragged himself out of the bed which started the wailing of alarms, then over to the only door where he waited. Predictably it wasn't long until someone arrived, dressed in a very blue shirt and JT tripped her. He didn't wait until she had fallen down completely to attack her, but as confused as he still was, he didn't hear the footsteps approaching behind him until a hypospray was pressed into his neck and gave a soft hiss._

_He berated himself for his own carelessness – no wonder Kodos' men had caught him – before the still too bright world faded to black again._

_The next time he woke up, he was held down onto the bed by padded restrains. This time it was a man who came in, a Bolian. The blue shirt looked weird against his blue skin. He made the mistake of stepping too close and JT managed to bite him twice before another the hiss of a hypospray pulled him under again._

_The time after that, the blue-shirted guards had learned their lesson, staying on the far side of the room, but so had he. Dislocating his thumbs, his bony hands slipped from the foolishly soft restrains easily._

_It was only when he woke up for the fourth time, that JT realised thinking Kodos was behind this was probably pretty stupid. He'd obviously been better off than the rest of the colony, but after months of famine and with little to no electricity, even he couldn't have made a room look like_ this _. And what he was lying on looked suspiciously like a biobed._

_This time he stayed calm, only hissing at them in warning when those idiots tried to fucking touch him because yeah, no. No one got to lay a hand on him if he had anything to say about it. And he let them talk, explain, introduce themselves. Starfleet._

_They offered to take off the restrains if he told him their name – yeah, as if – and when they realised he would refuse, they only asked him to promise he wouldn't try to attack them again. This time, he nodded reluctantly. After all, they were Starfleet, and if he did break that promise they probably wouldn't do anything worse than hypo him into oblivion again. But he wouldn't break it anyway, he needed their trust or their pity or whatever he could work with, he wasn't picky. He had to find his kids, find out if they were safe._

_So he did his best to look scared and demure and even allowed them to reattach one of the IVs after having been shown that it was only a saline solution, nothing that'd make him drowsy. He was sick and tired of feeling weak. They apologised for any pain he might be in – like he was a_ child _, like he couldn't handle that, idiots – because they didn't have anything strong he wasn't allergic to, and he responded with what he hoped passed for a sad but understanding nod._

_For his troubles, he got rid of the restrains and they even handed him a bowl of broth, telling him his body couldn't handle solid food just yet. He didn't care. Food was food in whatever form and once they had left he dropped the spoon and drank it so fast it made him sick. Nausea had never felt better._

_The next day they informed him he'd be visited by a psychiatrist once a day. To “help him process the trauma”. JT resisted the urge to scoff, only nodding instead again. Kodos' people hadn't gotten more than the occasional wordless scream out of him, a Starfleet shrink wouldn't stand a chance._

 

30 sessions. One a day for a month while he spent the rest of the day rebuilding his lost muscles in physiotherapy – about which he complained to Bones at length, knowing his friend was secretly relieved to see him return to his usual terrible patient attitude – or resting up from it.

30 sessions of talking in circles, doing his best to seem fine but not too fine, so he could show his steady improvement. After the colony when he had been 14 – he still didn't like to think the name – it had taken months for the trauma symptoms to set in. If this would be the case now as well, he had more than enough experience in dealing with them and he could always talk to Bones or even Spock or the others. But somehow he doubted that would happen at all.

After 30 sessions with no additional ones ordered and the reminder that he could ask for them if needed anytime, the counsellor finally gave him a clean bill of sanity – something he and Bones instantly took to bickering about it, to the point that even the rest of his bridge crew was sometimes drawn in. And of course those traitors all took his CMO's side, insisting he was batshit crazy. Jim shook his head fondly. He had the most awesome crew in the whole quadrant, at the very least!

 

_It took two weeks until the alarm on the biobed had been switched off and another until his door was unlocked so he could wander the ship. He hadn't asked them about his kids, they were as wary of him as he was of them and his kids were too important for him to just ask around, not taking care who'd hear him._

_He didn't need to ask anyway, not now, when he had access to the ship. It didn't take him long to find a computer console hidden in an unobserved corner. He had always had a knack for computers, breaking Starfleet's encryption was a challenge but not impossible even if his recently mended fingers were still stiff and prone to mistakes. Soon enough he found the control for the internal sensors. It was easy enough to blind them to his bio-signature. JT didn't plan on returning to that room in sickbay._

_Stealing and unobservant Lieutenant's PADD and removing its locator, he opened and crawled into the nearest Jefferies tube. Lying down with the low hum of the warp drive vibrating through him, comforting him, he quickly cracked the PADD's access code and immersed himself in Starfleet's reports on the failed colony of Tarsus IV. It took a while, but eventually he found what he was looking for: An index of the survivors and the deceased. He had to scan it manually, but he found them, there they were, on the survivors list._

_His kids. Eight of them._

_Ashley and Tr'na'ky hadn't made it. Tommy had. Their medical files were attached to it with an additional encryption, but these were his kids and that was more than enough motivation for JT. He was giddy with relief to find that most of them had only the minor injuries he'd known about plus the inevitable malnourishment, but there was a doctor's note saying that in comparison to most of the colony's few other surviving children, his were in a surprisingly good state. Only Tommy had needed intensive care for the phaser burn on his face. He had lost an eye and the left side of his face would be badly scarred, but he would live._

_They weren't on the same ship as JT, he himself having been discovered much later, after the first relief ships had already left. They were en route to earth, to be reunited with relatives there or be picked up by other ships._

_Then he found the surveillance footage. He didn't know how much time he spent laying there, watching on fast-forward as his kids were brought in for treatment, lived and played as they were kept together in one big room with four bunk beds, as they slowly started smiling more until they freely laughed with each other, ate and healed and gained weight until they looked like ordinary kids again. Like he had thought, Kev had taken charge of their family and he could see the others visibly relax in his presence. Kev was a good kid, and he'd done right by the others._

_For the first time in he didn't know how long, tears started running down his face. Tears of relief at their safety, joy at their returning happiness, grief for those he'd lost, left behind in the small, shallow graves he'd dug for them a few hundred metres from where they'd hidden._

_Eight alive, twelve lost. His eyes never left the surveillance footage. He watched them laugh, all of them together and that was when he decided not to contact then. They didn't need the reminder of their time on the colony and they didn't need his protection anymore. They were safe now, safe and free and deserving to be happy. JT would keep tabs on them, see how their lives progressed and to be there if any of them ever needed his help again, but if they didn't he'd be happy to watch them find their way in life and love them from afar._

_For the next week, he was a ghost on the ship, sticking to the tubes most of the time. When he did leave them to access the replicators, the few people he saw avoided him almost instinctively. He'd overheard one ensign talking to another, saying that there was something about him, an aura as if death itself clung to him._

_After that week, the ship made a pit stop for new medical supplies at a space station and he once more accessed the index. A few clicks later, the 'John Doe' file on him vanished from the list of survivors, reappearing as deceased and he snuck off board._

_When he watched the ship disappear into warp from one of the station's viewing ports, he smiled. Voice hoarse from disuse, he spoke for the first time since Kodos' people had captured him._

“ _JT is dead, long live Jim Kirk.”_

 

It was great to finally be out of the hospital. As much as he loved space and the Enterprise, there was something to be said for the outdoors on a planet. The truly fresh air, the wind, the clouds and the sunshine, the real gravity. He felt alive.

What he hadn't told the counsellor, or anyone for that matter, was that maybe part of why his – temporary – death had been so easy to accept, was because sometimes, just sometimes, it felt like it was long overdue. But he knew that no one would understand and that didn't mean he enjoyed life any less, so he kept that detail to himself.

 

_He had tried to fight the nightmares with drugs for a while, until he woke up to the smell of death. The actual smell, not the one that followed him out of the memories of his sleeping mind. He had found his dealer on the other side of the room. From that day on, the only drugs he couldn't swear off were alcohol and adrenaline. In the months after, his nightmares lessened slowly until one day, he found himself looking forward to sleep. He smiled._

 

Soon he would have to give his speech at the memorial service for the events of Daystrom and the crash of the _Vengeance_.

 

_A thunderstorm in space. He had half expected what was coming, but even that didn't prepare him for the sight of the debris field in Vulcan's orbit. Starfleet ships, officers and cadets, hundreds of strangers, passing acquaintances, classmates and friends dead. And here he stood._

 

San Francisco was grieving more than a thousand losses and Jim the ones from his crew, but one in particular made his heart hang heavy but him stand straight and tall, his voice ringing out loud and clear in honour of the memory of his mentor.

 

_Red soil was hurling closer as he fell to certain death, yelling his last hope into his communicator until against all odds, the familiar tingle of a transporter beam caught him and he fell to the transporter pad instead. Unpleasant but safe. He got up and thousands of kilometres underneath him, a planet died._

 

The command gold felt right on his body and he couldn't contain his smile as he discreetly ran his fingers over the Captain's stripes. His smile turned into a full-on grin when next to him, his best friend grumbled “Well, at least one of us is all chipper about flying at unreasonable speeds into our deaths.”

Realising what he had just said, his friend's sour expression turned stricken. He still didn't take well to the subject of death in connection to Jim, but at least that careless remark could probably be considered progress. He bumped their shoulders together and smiles reassuringly.

“Relax, Bones. It'll be fun, you'll see.”

Jim was relieved when the grumpiness returned and he got glared at for a moment.

“Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.”

 

_He had to admit that he didn't feel remorse when Nero chose death over accepting his help._

 

With the streaks of the warp channel flying along the view screen, seated comfortably in the Captain's – his – chair and his family surrounding him, he felt at home. A strange feeling of both calm and exhilaration, at peace and alive. He could feel the gazes of his bridge crew drifting to him every few seconds, like they were making sure he was really here. Of course the public didn't know about his death, they were under the assumption that he'd only been severely injured, but everyone on his crew knew everything that transpired. They were his family, they had the right to know, but of course it worried them.

 

  
_Numb with shock, he stared at the drying blood of his mentor, Chris Pike, the only father he'd ever had. And slowly, the grief was setting in and with it, a faint sense of guilt. One even he could admit was illogical but that didn't make it less real._

_Like someone had once said, death clung to him. It always had._

 

So he slowly swivelled around in his chair, meeting the eyes of every single one of them and giving them his patented Jim Kirk grin. Showing them that he was back, he was alright and himself. That even dying did not change Jim Kirk.

After all, like someone had once said, death clung to him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it despite the admittedly kinda morbid theme? Please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you think!


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